My Martha Stewart Moment

I am not really crafty. I don't own a glue gun and I don't make things. I see things and think "I could make that" but I never do. However, every year for the holidays I try to channel Martha. CityCrab always says that a homemade gift means more than anything you can buy. And it's nicer than cash. CityCrab's family has a huge annual Chanukah celebration. There are about 30 people in his immediate family so it really turns into a gathering. Every year, I try to bring something I made. A few years back, I made chocolate dipped pretzel sticks. This is the easiest thing I have ever done. Melt the chocolate, dip the pretzel and then dip it in sprinkles or crushed m&ms and done. These were a hit but you can't show up every year with the same thing. That almost borders on showing you don't care. As most of you know I have a 6 month old baby so that definitely cramps my style (and time) a bit. I thought about doing something with apples since I have bushels from my mother. But apples are so not a "treat." So, I thought I would do a little Martha channeling. I conjured up my most creative thoughts from deep inside. I even watched Whatever for inspiration. Nothing. Then I went to the grocery store and saw that cookie dough was on sale. Perfect! I bought logs of cookie dough. I bought frosting in a jar and sprinkles and colored sugar crystals. I was ready to go to town. Well, the first batch of cookies came out very crispy. So those went to the garbage men to say "thank you for picking up after us all year," because nothing says happy holidays like burned cookies. The next batch was better. The decorating was actually fun. I dumped the whole thing of frosting in a zip lock bag, snipped the end and went to work. I made Jewish stars and dreidels. Then I made dots and lines. I even tried a multi-colored plaid (didn't work). I had frosting in my hair and frosting all over the counter. Reuben & Lulu were stationed right at my feet for the frosting and cookie crumbs that fell off the counter. Lucky for me they make a great clean-up committee. It was fun. The final outcome a success. My house a mess. Martha Stewart would have been appalled. Oh well.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match

I fancy myself a bit of a matchmaker. I am no Yenta. But I like to make matches where I see fit. CityCrab is often a party to this. For example, we attended a birthday party of a friend. Met a very nice guy there. Talked to him for about 20 minutes. Weeks pass and we have a friend coming to town. We decide to call this guy, out of the blue, and see if he's interested in meeting our friend for a drink. Volia! A date. CityCrab and I have had one successful match. Success is defined as a match that leads to marriage. Although, we can hardly take credit for it since we didn't premeditate the introduction, it just kinda happened. As an amateur matchmaker, you must always be aware of who is single, who is looking, what their stats are and always have people in mind. Afterall, it's not as though you can actually write this stuff down. It has happened this way for centuries in many cultures. And, there are those today who continue the tradition. You know who you are. So, if you know of anyone...call me!

The Matzah Ball

The Jewish people have many traditions. Some religious, some cultural. Two of these traditions occur on Christmas, oddly enough. One is Chinese food and movies on Christmas day. For whatever reason, these are the only 2 establishments open on Christmas. And, it is pretty much universal, whether you are in New York, California, Florida or anywhere in between, where I heard a rumor that Jews live. The other tradition is The Matzah Ball. I am not sure where this originated but I have to think it's the brainchild of some Jewish club promoter. This event occurs on Christmas Eve and is an opportunity for Jews to descend on a drinking establishment for revelry and good cheer. This, however, is not universal and occurs in mnay varieties. For example, in larger cities like NY, Chicago & Atlanta, these events are comonly for singles. A Jewish mtoher's dream that you will attend and meet the spouse of your dreams, become engaged on the following Christmas Eve and be married by Passover. In smaller cities, like Charleston, SC where I live, it casts a wider net. There are singles and married couples and divorcees and people in their 20s and people in their 50s. In these small cities, there are not enough of any one group to make up a contingency for a matzah ball, so we like to throw it all together. A mixed matzah ball, if you will. So, Wednesday night CityCrab and I attended the Matzah Ball. It was a chance to catch up with friends, see people who live elsewhere but make it home for the holidays and do a little amateur matchmaking.

yourbabycanread.com

So, I finally got around to calling the number to see what this was all about. And, I was informed that my baby can read. For $79.99. What happened to the $14.95 deal? Let me back up. Last night, we had a small Chanukah party and Mama Ruth asked me if I called the number. CityCrab shoots me a raised eyebrow which I ignore and nonchalantly answer back, "not yet." One thing about Mama Ruth, for a 90 year old brain, she doesn't forget a thing. So, this morning I tear apart my desk looking for the scrap of paper that has the number on it. I find it and call where I am greeted by a very chipper fellow who immediately asks my name & zip code. He confirms the spelling of my name and my city, making it sound much more alluring than it is (his chipper voice again). He then told me that since I was calling I "must have a baby I care about." Ping! BS meter on! I played right into it and said that since I do have a baby I care about, I didn't have a lot of time to chat. Did he have a website? Of course, he did: yourbabycanread.com. So, I went directly there just dying to see what it had to say. Well, this was not just any program, it is the premier early language development system created by a Dr. Robert Titzer (seriously? Titzer?). And it has been featured on Montel. Uh, I thought that show was cancelled with Sally Jessy Raphael? So, now I'm in a bit of a pickle. How do I call Mama Ruth and tell her she's been duped? I suppose I just pick up the phone and tell her it's $79.95. That should cure it.

The Talking 6 Month Old

This is from the files of the "I can't believe this is my life." Earlier today the phone rings. It's Mama Ruth. I know it's her, because she does this thing where she is already talking by the time you pick up the phone so you catch in her mid-sentence. This is what I catch: "...5 o'clock this morning on channel 32, they have something that I want to buy. I will pay for it but I need your permission." She wants to buy the Monster1200 steam cleaner CityCrab is obsessed with? She wants to buy the Ron Popeil Rotisserie? (Did she forget one of her friends gave it to us as wedding present? Of course she did.) Oh no. She saw a "thing", as she so eloquently called it, that teaches children to talk. This is how she explains it: "The girl on the TV points to a yellow circle and the child says 'yellow'. It's created by a doctor. A Dr. Tisch-something, Jewish, I imagine. It's $14.95." So, at this point I know that she is up at 5:30am, watching infomercials (which just screams inheritance depletion) and that she thinks a $14.95 thing created by a Jewish doctor, natch, can teach CityBaby to talk. When I ask what it is called, she says she has no idea but she gives me a phone number. And, because I have a sense of humor, I jot it down. Now I have to call it and see what this thing is all about. Stay tuned....

Chanukah

Last year's Chanukah post explained the Miracle of Chanukah as the ability to somehow always find 44 candles for the menorah. This year's miracle will be my ability to actually pull it off. Last year was a time of innocence when my biggest problem problem was finding enough candles. This year, I've got a whole new set of issues. I am not very organized. At all. And anyone who knows me, knows this. Having just moved 10 months ago means that I cannot find anything I need. For example, earlier this week I tried to find last year's leftover cards to send holiday greetings. Guess I won't be sending any this year. (Consider this a public plea for forgiveness.) I also tried to find our menorahs. We have 2: one from my grandmother and one CityCrab gave me. If I don't get on it, this year we'll be blowing out birthday candles instead of lighting Chanukah ones. I was talking with a friend earlier today who suggested I go to Target for chocolate gelt. I was encouraged until she said that I would really need to root around in there since it was kinda picked over. Well, this year it's real gelt for everyone! The one thing I did get was presents. And, not only did I buy presents for CityBaby, I hid them....FROM A 6 MONTH OLD! See, I am not all air up there. But the good news is that this year I am sharing the holiday with CityCrab and my friends and family who live close by, and starting a new tradition with CityBaby. So, we may not have candles but miracles still abound.

Having The Vision

I think I need a vision board. I've been reading a lot about them lately and hearing about them on blogs, from friends even from Oprah (whom I think may have invented it, like everything else). I am not exactly sure if they work. Although, I can see why they would work. A constant reminder of where you are going. Like the GPS that tells you take a right in 2 miles. I often write notes to myself and stick them in all kinds of places so I don't forget to take the stroller out of the car or call the doctor to renew my prescription. I know that the new year always brings out the list of resolutions that typically last a few weeks (at least for me). But maybe if I have a constant reminder I'll stay fosused. I'm going to invest in a glue stick and see where it takes me. How's that for vision?

The Big Apple

Last week my mother showed up at my door with a box of apples. A big box of apples. Family friends sent them 2 boxes this year and she didn't know what to do with them so she gave them to me. Who doesn't love holiday apples? I have since discovered that it is nearly impossible for 2 people to eat that many apples. But I am doing my darnedest to disprove that theory. So, for the past week we have been eating apple crisp and apple oatmeal. Apples with cheese and apples with peanut butter. Even Reuben & Lulu were able to get in on the gig since apples are a vet-approved food. CityBaby is getting homemade apple sauce. And, at my sister in law's suggestion I am going to attempt an apple cake. I am appled out.

Kabbalah

I should start this post by saying that I am going to reveal some controversial ideas here and I am treading on new territory since I hardly ever speak about religion or politics. I consider myself a fairly religious person. I embrace my Jewish identity, I observe Jewish holidays and being Jewish is a large part of who I am, certainly from a cultural perspective. I don't claim to understand it all and I am not a scholar. However, I think Kabbalah is for amateurs. I suppose the most annoying part about it is that people like Madonnna have made it into something I don't think it is. It's crazy to me that Madonna can strap a red string on her wrist, start a trend and show up at Rosh Hashanah services with Demi & Ashton. What about the guilt, what about the birthing hips? You can't just believe in the secret Jewish meaning of numbers and become a Jew. I just don't buy it.

Infected

I had my first computer virus this past week. It was a very traumatic experience. Actually, I was embarrassed. I innocently opened my hotmail to, ironically, send a work email. All of a sudden in my work email, I saw the subject line: "Welcome to you online shopping!" I immediately was annoyed by whichever friend send me this crap. Then I saw that I was the sender. And my stomach dropped. Did I realize I had a virus? No. I was wracked with shame because there was a spelling error in the subject line. Then my inbox became flooded with emails from friends asking if I had sent and about my new business (!?!). My stomach dropped some more. I responded, in hindsight a little too defensively, that I would never send that email especially with a spelling error in the subject line and how could you even think I would. I was lashing out with no reason. Textbook vulnerable behavior. Well, I am glad the whole thing is behind me. I don't do contagious very well.

Superstition

My family is superstitious. Not umbrella in the house, death happens in 3s superstitious. Crazy superstitious. It might be cultural (we're Jewish) or it might just be we are crazy. For example, when CityBaby was born Mama Ruth instructed me to take him home from the hospital and rub a pishy diaper on his face. Pishy is apparently Yiddish for urine soaked diaper. When I protested, she instructed me to put a red Kabbalah string around his wrist. For those of you who know me, I think Kabbalah is for amateurs. Here's how the conversation went:

Mama Ruth: Put a red string on his wrist.
Me: It's a choking hazard.
Mama Ruth: Then put it on his ankle.
Me: It's a CHOKING HAZARD!
Mama Ruth: Then put a red ribbon under his crib mattress and on his car seat.
Me: OK, Fine!

Now, I must backup and tell you the extent to which Mama Ruth takes this seriously. She wears a red ribbon on her bra everyday. I remember many moments as a child in the Loehmann's dressing room staring at that thing. If you meet her, she will proudly reveal her bra strap sporting the red ribbon and tell you that she was into it before Madonna. But it goes further than this. When we recently purchased a new car to meet the needs of our expanding family, the first time we picked her up she got in the backseat and threw change on the floor. Later, CityCrab (who is a bit of a neat freak) was in the back picking it up. I had to break the news to him: Don't pick it up. It's a superstition and if you pick it up, she'll just keep throwing it. Same with when you move into a new house. We invited her over the day we moved in. I opened the door to be greeted by her standing there with a broom, a pound of sugar and more change. She instructed me to come outside, close the door and go back in. I obeyed. Why? I had to enter the house with the broom and the sugar. She threw the change on the floor and I had to sweep it into a corner. Why? So, I will always have a life filled with prosperity (change), cleanliness (broom) & healthy (sugar. Sugar? She obviously doesn't know that white sugar kills). It doesn't end there. It seems as though I learn a new superstition everyday. Whenever I share one of CityBaby's acheivements, I have to spit. If I mistakenly walk across someone who is lying on the floor, I have to walk back over them. Did you know they could die? And, don't even ask what you have to do when you put a hat on the bed. In fact, now that I'm about finished with this post, I think I need to rub my own face with a dirty diaper. Luckily, we have a surplus of those around here.

Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving. It's my favorite time of year. I love the cool weather and the leaves. I love the idea of seeing all my family in one place (I am especially grateful for this since this has not always been the case.) Thanksgiving also marks the anniversary of my blog. And, there's one thing I have left out, Thanksgiving is the one holiday CityCrab and I host for both of our families. There's something else I left out, our families together equal about 35 people. Now, planning a meal for a 35 people might as well be like planning a wedding. You have to think it through from start to finish. Of course, there won't be any ceremony although someone usually always makes some corny toast. But there's drinks and a cocktail hour with food. Then there's the meal. Then dessert and coffee. Drinks and h'or d'oeuvres are pretty straight forward. The meal is another story. 2 years ago we hired 2 culinary students who made everything. This was helpful but we still had the issue of having to wash everything. I remember our water bill doubling that month. This year we have decided to take a more practical approach. We have assigned everyone an item based on their ability & specialty. Fortunately, over the years we have eaten at everyone's house to know what they can make. We are responsible for the turkey and this year we decided to complement it with a bbq brisket. So, for anyone who is interested, here's the menu (if you are interested in recipes, let me know, I am more than willing to share):

Appetizers will be spiced cocktail nuts, spinach artichoke dip, baked brie, crudite and cheese.
Main meal will be mixed greens with goat cheese, turkey, bbq brisket, mac & cheese, squash casserole, mashed potatoes, sweet potato pie, some kind of green vegetable accompanied by rolls and biscuits.
Dessert will be a surprise but will most likely include a pecan pie, blondies (since my sister in law is an expert) and peach cobbler.

Now I know food is the most important thing but all this planning doesn't even include table decorations and flowers and seating. See, it is like a wedding. In fact, next year I am going to register.

The Great Train Table

Some of you have probably heard this story a million times, but because I think it is that good, I am going to make it available for public consumption. If you read this with any regularity, you will be familiar with my grandmother, Mama Ruth. She's 90 years old. About 2 weeks ago she calls me in a panic. She tells me that she was at the doctor's office getting her flu shot and in the waiting room they have a children's table with trains on it. She said she thought it was "adorable" and she asked the receptionist where they got it. Ok, now I would have loved to witness that conversation because she went on to ask the doctor's office receptionist what other colors it comes in. Remember, she's 90 years old. She finds out where they got it and goes to the store to see it. Hence the panicked call I receive. She wants me to go over there with CityCrab & CityBaby to check it out. She wants to be sure we like it before she buys it. 90 years old. I poll my friends, we go to check it out. It's great - we would love it. Now, CityBaby is just 5 months old so it's definitely not something he can use now but down the road, he'll definitely be into it. I tell her we love it. About a week later, a man shows up at my door with 2 huge boxes. Then he says, "this is from your grandmother." Note to self: cross that toy store off the list of places I can now go. Great. I drag the boxes in and lean up against the wall. 2 days later, I get another panicked call from Mama Ruth. Did I get it, do I like it and is it set up? I try to explain to her that he's a little young for it. She will have none of this. She instructs me that I must put it together in time for Thanksgiving. She wants it up. Here's how I look at it: She's 90 years old. She wants it up, I'll put it up. We walk by those boxes everyday. Sometimes we knock in to them, I noticed the other day that a huge chunk of cardboard is missing from the back thanks to Lulu. Sunday morning, after my 6am wake-up call, I decide to put it together. There I am, 15 pieces of wood, a set of instructions, a box of screws and my little Ikea wrench. 3 hours later, I am staring at an activity table. Staring, you ask? That's right staring. I am trying to imagine what a 21lb turkey will look like on it. Quite frankly, it makes a very nice buffet.

The Amazing Race

Since when did my life become the Amazing Race? I get up in the morning and have a to do list that might as well be at the bottom of a submarine. I fish it out of my bag, open the envelope, turn it upside down so that the plane tickets can fall out. Alas, they never do. I look at the list, tell my nanny I'll be back in 2 hours and dash out the door with my keys. I don't have time to plan my route so I do it in the car, while driving. I pull into the Target parking lot, dodging children and runaway shopping carts and dash into the store. It takes me 25 minutes to spend my 75 bucks. Dash out and on to the next errand. This goes full steam for 2 hours. At the end, I pull into my garage and land with both feet firmly planted on the door mat as though I am awaiting my next clue. And it almost always reads, you forgot to pick up milk.

Where Have You Been?

Over the weekend I attended a couple of social events and this question was posed to me by 2 different people at 2 different parties: Where have you been? It got me thinking. I haven't been publishing my novel and I haven't been turning my million dollar idea into a business. And, it's not like I've been off in Stockholm collecting my Nobel Peace Prize. What have I been doing? I've been changing diapers and walking dogs. I've been doing some writing but not enough to get me any acceptance letter from Random House. I've been working and I've been trying to prepare for Thanksgiving. And, just this weekend I put together CityBaby's activity table which took me 3 hours. So, I guess I've been up to nothing. A whole lot of nothing that equates to life. What have you been up to?

It Takes a Village

Raising a child really does take a village. There are all the obvious villagers like your spouse, parents, caregivers. Then there are all the villagers who have no idea they even live in your village, like the woman at Starbucks who knows your order by recognizing your voice at the drive-thru. And the man (yes! a man helped me) in the baby aisle at Target who steers you in the right direction on diapers. And your friend who will listen to you go on endlessly about your trouble with dirty diapers and how you have no idea how the diaper genie works (which I think is probably why they call it a genie - you have to rub it to make it work?) Or, even occasionally, your dogs, when they can sense you've had a particularly trying day and decide to just chill on their beds rather than eat everything in site. I am very grateful for my village. And I probably don't say it enough. So, to everyone who lives in my village: Thank you!

Back to School

I can't believe I did it but I did. Citybaby is only 5 months old and I put him on a waiting list for school. Now, I know in large cities there is admissions mania and I read New York Magazine and know that people lose jobs over bribing people to get into schools. But I live in Charleston, SC....am I that naive? Some of my girlfriends with older children really worked me into this frenzy so I made the call. And the worst part was that in an attempt to even get on the list, I had to throw around my 10 year old nephew's name since he is a current student. I then had to pull him aside at a family function and explain to him that if the admissions director of the school asks him about me, he is to tell her how much he loves me and how great I am. Is it possible that I have stooped so low as to bribe children? Have I become a purveyor of all that I used to despise? You bet your ass. And, if the admissions director should be reading this, your hair looks great today.

Whole Foods

Now that CityBaby is immunized and 3 1/2 months old, we try to get out at least once a day for an outing. Lately, we find ourselves at Whole Foods. I like Whole Foods. In fact, I have a bit of an obsession with it. I like the experience, I like the offerings and I like the people. CityBaby does not feel the same. Here's how it goes: He is quiet in the produce section. Just chilling in his car seat perched high atop the cart. I face him out since he seems to be more content that way. I make a point of talking to him to continually keep him stimulated (this is some rubbish I read in a book) so I am the crazy lady talking to my infant. We cruise around the produce area, get our fruits and vegetables and move on to the cereals. He starts to become a bit more alert here and continues through the dairy aisle to the poultry section. Then as we round the frozen food section into the fresh foods and cheeses, he contorts his face and starts this cry he has perfected. It says, I am not really upset but I want you to know I am getting unhappy. Then as we leave the bakery department on our way to check out, he lets loose. The nice thing about Whole Foods is that throughout the store they pump music and white noise so you can't really hear a screaming baby. Not so at the checkout area. Every time we've been there, he breaks out in a full blown scream, tears and everything. In fact, the last time we were there, our friendly checkout girl mentioned that she remembered me from last time. Why? Because my baby was also crying at the checkout. Great - I am THAT lady. I'm going to continue to experiment and see what it is that makes him cry because I just can't give up my Whole Foods obsession.

The Nanny Poach

I did it. Last week, I tried to poach a nanny. I was meeting a friend for coffee at a local cafe. I was early since it takes me an extra 15 minutes to figure out the fancy stroller I had to have. I got lucky and the stroller just popped into place the first time. I was sitting down, baby in stroller minding my own business when a young, blond, impossibly skinny girl walked by with a child in each hand. I took one look at her and knew she had never given birth. How did I know? Trust me, when you know, you know. She and her charges sat just one table over from me. I knew I only had minutes to make my move. So, I did. I commented on how cute the kids where and asked how old they were. Idle chit chat, blah, blah, blah. I knew my time was waning so I had to get to it. I asked her if the kids looked like her or her husband. Then bingo! She replied that she was the nanny. I laughed sheepishly, playing the part. Then went in for the kill. How much longer did she think she would be with them (these kids definitely looked like they should be in school)? Did she enjoy her job? She could probably sense my desperation at this point because she curtly replied that she was thrilled to be with her family. So, I retreated but resorted to Plan B. Do you have any friends? I knew it was a longshot since now I looked like a psycho Mom. She said no. Shocking! Fortunately for me, my friend showed up and we both went on with our lives. Thankfully, my son is not old enough to understand what was going on and the sheer embarrassment his mother displayed in the cafe that day. And, no surprise, I am still nanny-less.

Back It Up

I can't go back. Literally. I am stuck. How did this happen? Let me explain. Last week, we were having some work done and I had to temporarily relocate my office to our guest bedroom. I had known about this for some time however, as usual, waited until the last minute to do it. I carted everything I needed into the guestroom and put it all on the bed for the time being. I was working on my laptop and placed it open on the bed. Bad move. Lulu jumped on the bed and on to the laptop keyboard. She claims she was trying to locate her birth mother but this is another story alotgether. I come back and see her on the laptop, go to remove her and hear a pop. I looked down and see where my "backspace" key used to be is a hole. I panic. Without backspace, everything becomes permanent. I can never undo anything. I get on my hands and knees and start to serach for the key. I find it wedged between the headboard and the wall. Releived that I have found it, I think I can just reattach it. I place the key over the hole and press. The key falls to the floor again. I pick it up and gingerly place it over the hole and press. Alas, it will not stick. So, I have no backspace key, just a void where it used to be. And this is why I am stuck and can't go back. Sigh...........

9/11

I would be remiss if I didn't write an entry about 9/11. I remember it today like it was yesterday. In fact, I remember the night before and last night I remarked this to CityCrab and he agreed that he also remembered it. It's not often that you remember something so vivid this many years later. I remember what I was doing at this exact moment. I remember what I was wearing. I remember what other people were saying. I remember seeing the whole thing happen, like some distorted movie, from my office window. I remember it all. And today I will carry it with me, like the burden it is.

Hurricane Season

Now that I live in the South, I have to be concerned with hurricanes. So, from August through November I am a hurricane watcher. I honestly didn't think I would become obsessed with weather until I was at least 60 but I suppose I have been burdened early. Here's what hurricane season brings with it: The ability, at any given moment, to know hotels in 5 inland areas that are made of sturdy construction and allow pets. The fact that the large pieces of wood that came with our house and are sitting in the garage are hurricane "shutters" that will need to be placed over our windows. The reality that the evacuation street signs posted along the major roads should really just read "this means you" with a big arrow. Having a series of bags ready, at all times, with important papers, diapers, baby formula, dog food, medications and, oh yeah, a change of underwear for me and CityCrab. If you haven't heard from me in awhile you can rest assured that I am holed up in a hotel room with CityCrab, CityBaby and our 2 dogs, eating cheese doodles and listening to a transistor radio in the dark. See you in December.

Knit One, Purl Two, Then Wait 2 Years.....

I knit. I am not a knitter. Rather, I am someone who knits. I know this because I have boxes and bags and baskets full of never used yarn. I have every possible knitting tool, even ones I have no idea how to use. I have projects that I have started and never finished in special knitting project bags. I have books about knitting and have bought patterns that I have never used, but they are all neatly placed in a fancy knitting notebook. See? This is why I am someone who knits. So, as someone who knits, I recently picked up a project I started 2 years ago for a friend's baby. Now that her child is a toddler, I couldn't possibly give her the project. Perfect excuse never to finish it, right? No sir-ree. I decided that now that I have a baby I would pull it out and finish it. And, luckily it's just the right color: blue. It's a blanket knit in a super soft chenille with a "fur" trim. The body of the blanket is really quite easy - it's garter stitch which is knitting every row. The trim however, proved to be more challenging. Another hazard of being someone who knits is that I never read the whole pattern before I start. I just like to dive right in. So, when I finished the blanket I panicked. The pattern instructed me to crochet the trim. Uh, I'm someone who knits, not someone who crochets. So, I did the most logical thing. I called my Mother and asked her to teach me how to crochet. Except when she came to teach me how to crochet, I just couldn't get the hang of it, which I was able to determine by never touching the crochet hook. I stood over her for almost an hour while she "showed" me how to do it. And, by that time she was almost done with it. So, out of the goodness of my heart and in the spirit of strengthening the mother-daughter bond, I decided to let her finish the trim. And, damn if she didn't do a bang up job. I could have taken all the credit and stolen all the glory. But I didn't. I came clean in this blog here. So, my son now has a blanket made for him by his mother & grandmother. And, for those of you wondering if I ever got my friend a baby gift. I did. She is also someone who knits so I gave her a gift certificate to a knitting store. Misery loves company.

TGIF

What is it about Fridays? When I was working I looked forward to Fridays, along with the rest of my colleagues. It was the excitement, joy, relief of having 2 days off from work. I would have thought that Fridays would have a whole new meaning for me since I am not on a traditional work schedule. But I have found that I feel exactly the same way about them as I did before. It means CityCrab has 2 days off from work so he can help me with my job. He is an extra set of hands to hold CityBaby while I make a bottle, find some clean clothes, take a shower (a luxury these days) or run out to the dry cleaner. I have found that I look forward to Fridays with the same elation as before. I also feel like I can get through anything on a Friday because, it is Friday. I am thinking about instituting casual Fridays at home. This means instead of my usual post-pregnancy outfit of yoga pants and t-shirt, I'm going to downshift to sweats and an old t-shirt. And I am going to dress CityBaby in jeans. I'm going to put those denim overalls he got to good use. I might even give him every other Friday off in celebration of summer but not until his 90 day trial period is over.

The Next Food Network Star

It should come as no surprise that I have been spending a lot of time watching TV. I really try not to since I am convinced that it will somehow affect CityBaby's intellectual development. But I figure when I am feeding him it's not like either of us can do anything else so, inevitably the TV is on. And it is usually tuned in to the Food Network . Why? Because regardless of what is on, I can always watch the Food Network. There is always something that grabs my attention. I have noticed lately that while I am feeding him, CityBaby will turn eyes only towards the TV to watch what is on. I have also noticed that the Food Challenges bore him, Rachael Ray is intriguing to him but he can't quite put his finger on it (he must get this from his mother) and Ingrid Hoffman just outright amuses him. I shared this with CityCrab who announced that he would be more than happy if we were cultivating the Next Food Network star. This way we could be assured that we would always have our own chef, something we have long desired.

A Day Late and A Dollar Short

I have heard this saying and I am not sure of it's origin, And, until very recently, I didn't really know what it meant. But now I do. It seems as though I am always a day late and a dollar short lately. Take for example voicemail on my home phone. I'm calling people back whom I have already talked to. Or the large list of thank you notes I have to write. Not to mention the pile of written thank you notes sitting on my desk unstamped. Or the bills stacked up along side them. And all the unread magazines & books collecting dust throughout my house. I don't think the largest memo pad in the world could help me out of this mess. So, for now I'll just get really comfortable being late and saving up my dollars. Gotta cut this short and tend to my screaming baby......

What Is My Mom Quotient?

Now that I am 2.5 weeks into this Mom gig, I was doing a self-assessment the other day. I do come from the corporate world and it's not like I ordered a 360 or anything. I was trying to determine how I rate on the Mom scale. I spent my whole pregnancy reading. Reading about the pregnancy, what to eat, what not to eat, what to avoid, how to sleep, etc. I spent half of my doctor's appts asking ridiculous questions. Thankfully, my physician indulged me. The other half of my pregnancy I spent reading about raising a child. Early development, age appropriate toys, breastfeeding, stimulation, how to write the preschool essay..... And then, BAM, one day your water breaks and you have a baby. A crying, sometimes whaling, baby. And just like the SATs all over again, everything I read and heard flies out the window. I actually took notes on a legal pad in the hospital. That's right - when the lactation consultant told me how to breastfeed I had to interrupt her to tell her to slow down so I could write it all down. So what kind of mother does this make me? I can tell you this: after all the reading I did and preparing myself for how to effectively raise this child, I have pretty much broken every rule. Breastfeeding? We had to supplement with formula in the hospital due to a health issue and we fed CityBaby right from the bottle. Pacifier in the first weeks? Yep - cranky, crying CityBaby gets that thing shoved in his mouth when he just looks like he is going to cry (and it works!) Then I realized, there are no rules. I feed him 4oz every 4 hours and you know what? It works. He sleeps in between, he's happy when he's awake, I read & sing to him and at 2.5 weeks old he sleeps 6 hours a night. So, I must be doing something right. Back to my quotient. On the popular vote, I would likely score low but I am going to give myself high marks. I've made up my own rules.

Generations

I've been doing a lot of thinking about generations lately. My son's bris or ceremonial circumcision (more on this later) took place yesterday. As usual, my father made us pose for all kinds of pictures. Me & my mother, me & my brother, my brother, mother & me, our spouses, our kids, our dry cleaner....you get the idea. Then he requested a generation photo and I realized on my mother's side, we have 4 generations alive. My grandmother, Mama Ruth, as everyone calls her, my mother, me & now, my son. It's amazing to think that we currently span 90 years. And, for the record, I know Mama Ruth would be absolutely appalled that I just told everyone her age, especially after all that plastic surgery to preserve herself, but I think I can get away with this. After all, she is 90 years old - she thinks a computer is a fancy calculator. So, why are generations so important? For me, it is a constant reminder of the journey my family has taken, it is entertaining to hear Mama Ruth tell stories about the history of our family and how they made their way in this country and it is special to know that my son will someday hear these stories. We have been making an effort to record Mama Ruth, this is a personal goal of my husband's as family factotum, so that someday we'll be able to enjoy her stories again and again. And, it is my hope that we will always have 4 generations alive. I'm pretty optimistic since it's apparent that we have good genes. As a tribute, here's a photo of Mama Ruth.

A New Journey

Nine days ago, I entered motherhood for the first time. I am referring to it as my new job although it will just be added to all my current jobs but take first priority. I have been preparing myself for this role for the past 9 months. In fact, I think I have prepared myself for the worst. I had heard all the horror stories and just assumed that I would have war stories of my own that were just as bad to share. The last week has been trying. I didn't have the easiest of deliveries and both my baby and I encountered some minor complications. Then there's the insurance incident where I was momentarily being kicked out of the hospital. But through it all there has been this sense of calm. I know not every day will be good and I'll probably never sleep through the night again. I know that I'll always worry whether I am with him or not and that I'll cry just as hard when I drop him off for college as I did when he entered this world. But, when I hold him and comfort him from crying or listen to him coo, I have a sense of peace. And, so my new journey begins.

What I Learned in Loehmann's Dressing Room

I was recently in a conversation with other some women talking about being women. What differentiates us from men, other than our physical makeup. How we act. How we bond. How we treat each other, even if we are strangers. And, I decided that just about everything I have learned with respect to this, I learned in Loehmann's dressing room. For those of you unfamiliar with Loehmann's, I am not sure I can do it justice. It is the mecca of discount fashion. For some, it is a way of life. It is somewhat of a landmark and in ancient times, I imagine, it was used to provide directions. For example, "Golden Palace has the best chinese food." "Where is Golden Palace?" "You know, in the Loehmann's shopping center." Or, the more familiar, "Who cuts your hair?" "Leonard Golino at LG Salon." "Where is that?" "You know across from Loehmann's on 7th Avenue." "Oh, right."



I can't say I ever remember my first time in Loehmann's. It's almost as though I have been going there my whole life. I ventured there with my mother, my aunt and both grandmothers. And the minute I walk in to any Loehmann's, it is like coming home. Accessories right up from, shoes near the register, clothes racks spread throughout and the hallowed "Back Room" in, where else, the back. Who can forget the chairs upfront, littered with day old newspapers and crowded with the husbands (and wallets) of the women wandering around the racks. And, of course, the dressing room.



No man would survive this place. It is an open room, lined with mirrors, hooks along the walls with a long banquette down the middle. What you see is a mass of undergarments and flesh and women parading themselves, runway style, asking "how does this look?, "what do you think?". At first glance, yo think all these women know each other but, alas, they are strangers. Being in the dressing teaches you humility - you have to have no shame. You are at your most vulnerable - you undress in full sight of other women, all in the name of a bargain, and a good bargain at that. You learn to stand up for yourself. When someone claims your Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress as her own, you let her know it was on your hook. I've actually seen 2 women go at it over a heavily beaded navy gown, stripped down to their skivvies. This place is a war zone. As a young girl, I was a runner. My grandmother would instruct me to locate the St. John jacket, in red, in a 6 (the 8 was a bit too big). Or, the Gottex bathing suit in a 10. As I grew older, I jumped in and became one of them. Finding most of the dresses I wore through my early teens to Bat Mitzvahs there. And, then finally, as an adult I found countless pieces of career wear, sweaters, jackets and shoes.



I, sadly, no longer live in a city with a Loehmann's. But I have always kept the lessons I learned there with me. Humility, pride, vulnerability and the most important lesson of all, it's all worth it for a good bargain.

A Dog's Life

I'v worked from home for about 6 weeks now and I can finally answer the question, "what do my dogs do all day?" Sleep. They literally sleep. On their bed, snuggled together together. In the past, CityCrab and I have pondered this question. Our assessment was that as soon as we leave, they scour the kitchen floor for anything that may have inadvertently dropped during breakfast. Then make their way over the the garbage can (this is good sniffing, after all). Then maybe chill out for a bit. But then the party starts. Let's have a party and throw the cushions off the couch, then take every toy out of the box, play with it and drop it in the most remote corner of the house. Then, let's jump on the window sills, lick the windows and look outside. Then just as the party is winding is down, let's eat dirt out of the potted plants in the den. Why not? It is a party, after all.

How did we come to this conclusion? Dry spots of saliva on the kitchen floor, wet nose prints on the garbage can, toys everywhere, couch cushions on the floor, foot prints on the window sills and tongue marks on the windows. Our buck wild imaginations allowed us to create a day at the fun park for them.

So, now that I'm home? Nothing. They lay around all day. Occasionally, they'll move from one bed to another or perch themselves on the couch. Which, in our dog's oasis of a house, is allowed. I'm almost disappointed when I come down the stairs and witness them practically comatose.

So, I've decided when I come back, I want to come back as my own dog.

Secular Sabbath

Yesterday's New York Times Style Section featured a very interesting article titled . Mark Bittman, a chef who incidentally lives in my hometown (I never pass up the opportunity to name drop), wrote about the concept of a Secular Sabbath . The idea here is that you choose a day or weekend where you disconnect from all media. Phone, internet, blackberry, TV, etc. It's a hearkening back to the day when people actually took a Sabbath. It's important to note that there are many people who observe a religious Sabbath like this today.

So, this got me thinking. What if there was one day a week I disconnected? I could maybe do it on Sat or Sun. My work precludes me from doing it during the week. But the weekend is when I like to catch up on my blogging and my friend's blogs and check Facebook and help my single girlfriends screen men on match & jdate? That's a good deed right there. But then I thought about not having to log on and get sucked into work or inane gossip that sadly makes up a lot of my leisure time. So, yesterday afternoon I tried a mini Sabbath. Around 3pm, I had this incredible urge to log on to my laptop. Like a junkie, I always promise myself just a few emails and I'll log off. But it never ends there. It turns into 3 hours of checking email and then I am sucked back into work, 15 hours too soon. I resisted however and sat down with the rest of the paper. (There was also a very enlightening article in the magazine that I might blog about soon.) I proposed a Secular Sabbath to CityCrab who had the same initial reaction I did. But we decided to try it once, sometime in the future. When it's convenient.

My Own Writer's Strike

I've been on a writer's strike of my own the last 6 weeks. I would like to tell you that all the time I spent walking in the picket line outside my house resulted in a substantial raise and residuals for all that online content. But I am here to tell you that my the last 6 weeks were comprised of moving, unpacking, settling in, putting away dishes and linens, finding places to stash the voluminous stuff we have collected and coordinating cable, furniture delivery, housekeepers and all varieties of workmen. As I mentioned in a previous post, moving is no fun. And, on top of that, it's not something that has a definite end. I'm sure I'll still feel like I'm moving in another 6 weeks. But the good news is that now that I realized my own writer's strike was a figment of my imagination, I am back to blogging.

Moving Day

Tomorrow is Moving Day. Hard to believe it's finally here. It feels like we've been packing for weeks. I've watched every one of my possessions be wrapped and put in a box. It's hard to believe in just a few days I'll be reversing that process. Moving always gives me hope that I'll organize, everything will be neat for a while - my linens will be perfectly lined up and my towels will look like the display at Restoration Hardware. But alas chaos wins out. In fact, I suspect I'll be in chaos for the next few days. Expect another entry when the chaos calms and I land on the other side.